But every day I remember that Parkinson’s is usually life-annoying, not life-threatening.

My gradual decline into life as a stumblebum with hands that shake around 6.8 on the Richter scale could be a lot worse.

For example, a younger friend suffered two heart attacks a few weeks ago. The second assault wracked his body for more than six hours while he lay on a Rochester General Hospital bed drifting between here and eternity, attending physicians told David Darley.

And I think of the doctor whose daughter staged a fake wedding so she and her dad could dance at the reception before he died of pancreatic cancer.

Daryl S. Evarts of Avoca described his grandfather as a vigorous missionary in Africa who was diagnosed at age 85 with Parkinson’s. He died within three years. His last two years were horrible as grandfather became a husk of his former self, Evarts said.

Everyone with any diagnosis wants to avoid that ending, even those of us whose lives aren’t as fulfilling and interesting as was Evarts’ missionary grandfather.

There are better options: An Amish friend told of two relatives who suffered from the disease and lived into their early 90s.

My personal hero is astronaut Rich Clifford who was diagnosed with Parkinson's in 1995. That didn't stop him from completing a third shuttle mission and a space walk. After keeping his illness secret for 15 years, he has now become an advocate for Parkinson’s awareness. He urges fellow sufferers not to let the disease control them: "Do not give up trying." Not a bad mantra for anyone, no matter the diagnosis.

Roy Brown Jr., 96, who designed the Edsel automobile, died of Parkinson’s disease and pneumonia a few months ago. If you weren’t around during the late 1950s, the car became synonymous with “flop.” Ford executives rejected suggestions solicited from poet Marianne Moore, including Intelligent Whale, Ford Faberge, Mongoose Civique and Utopian Turtletop. After the car was released in 1957, the grille drew comparisons to an Oldsmobile sucking a lemon, a toilet seat and other cruder images.

I simply face the disease using every tip available: My ophthalmologist noted that blinking is an involuntary action and Parkinson’s hampers involuntary actions. “Force yourself to blink, especially when you’re staring at the computer screen while writing,” he said.

The non-blinking alternative is a painfully dry eyeball. That’s why I always compose with a small bottle of artificial tears at hand.

Page 2 of 2 - This is the third in what I hope will be a long series of Tribune articles about my tribulations with what is a progressive disorder of the nervous system that impacts movement.

“In early stages of Parkinson's disease, your face may show little or no expression, or your arms may not swing when you walk, speech may become soft or slurred,” according to the Mayo Clinic website.

My version of the illness has so far avoided the worst symptoms. The hand tremors, however, have quickly climbed the Richter ladder. I routinely explain to those whom I interview why I need to sit on my left hand.

My right hand also quakes enough that reading my notes has become a challenge: What on earth does “liminy evcamit” really mean, I asked while replaying the interview in my mind. Oh, yeah, I remember: the “Living Environment” class at Canaseraga Central.

Thank goodness most of my articles focus on area schools so the jargon is familiar. With minimal struggle, “ylubed” became “global,” verbal shorthand for the familiar high school course Global Studies. Educators are precise and articulate so this reporter is unable to blame them for note-reading tussles.

I’ll never sit in the cockpit of a shuttle but there is some good news: Suffering the jangles of Parkinson’s is not like Alzheimer’s where I would watch the lights go out as I slowly slip into dementia.

Potentially great news: A clinical study in Japan concluded that drinking coffee will reduce the possibility of getting Parkinson’s.

In the optimistic chance that it’s never too late, I’m thinking of moving to Japan.